Clouds do wonderful things in spring. Today the whole valley was ringed with evening clouds of white and dark blue. Against the indigo mountains, the cumulus puffs stood up thick and rich like clumps of clotted cream from a puddle of homemade blueberry jam.
Spring clouds are pure magic to the eye. But the sense of smell is even more magical. The quintessential harbinger of spring for me comes from sticky willow buds bursting into leaf.
This short-lived fragrance, apprehended always in brief and unexpected whiffs, takes me back through a long series of scenes from the many previous springs of my life.
Haunting with ghosts of springs past, this unique smell of sap rising never fails to evoke a potent brew of nostalgia, energy and hope.
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